


sen5es

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sensory Mylar experience</p>
            </blockquote>





	sen5es

_"What the memory loses, imagination re-creates."_   
**-'Chavisory' The Stolen Child by Keith Donahue**

"Hello?"

One simple word and Sylar's heart had sped up as if it knew something that the man it beat for did not. The calculated planning he had been doing since his rescue off of a dusty Mexican side road had almost derailed the moment he heard that voice.

His first time hearing Mohinder's smooth accent in months elicited a remembrance of conversations filled with intellectual theories, thoughtful contemplations, laughter, taunting threats and the unconscious recognition of a familiar.

That moment was surpassed a few seconds later when he heard his name trip forward from Mohinder's tongue in an incredulous tone and Mohinder asked where he was.

Not, _how could he be alive?_ Not, _you're dead?_   
But, _where are you?   
_  
He had to smile to himself.

His _familiar._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Hello, Mohinder."

It was not a shock as much as it was the realization of inevitability in the form of fate, karma, atoms circling about on a collision course predetermined from the beginning of time, but masked as random chaos; destiny.

The sound of Sylar's low voice so very precisely speaking his name called to mind a tidal wave of sadness and bitterness at charismatic cons, destructive hope, paralyzing conscience and the ocean deep void created when the trusted was revealed as the deceiver.

Mohinder should have known that even Sylar's death was a lie.

Yet even in those months when Mohinder did not grieve it was not a case of out of sight, out of mind. He would still hear Sylar's voice comment, mock, provoke, even advise as part of his inner dialogue.

But nothing compared to the real thing.

Mohinder's mind raced and his body reacted with a rush of adrenalin.

It was a natural response if he ever knew one.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** **********   
**

The white adhesive bandage and purple bruising could not diminish the still captivating face they marked so crudely. The expression of unexpected curiousity emblazoned on Mohinder's face transported Sylar to a front door perch in Virginia. A face unlike any other, someone like Mohinder had certainly never brought a watch into Gabriel's shop.

Sylar repeatedly tried to coax the smile that had once calmed his insatiable desire for power and made him feel that he was worthy as he was. But Mohinder was either too panicked to understand Sylar's prompting or willfully ignored it in one of the few acts of resistance he could muster.

Sylar dejectedly accepted the loss.

After months apart, letting his eyes linger on Mohinder felt like a reward for surviving the ordeal some secretive society had painstakingly thrust upon him.

Seconds moved at a snail pace as Sylar simply watched Mohinder while he spoke to, derided and worked for the unrepentant murderer.

It was when Mohinder looked back, however, that time stood still.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Confidence was a powerful drug.

Sylar's overabundance of it was infuriating and intoxicating. Beneath the calm exterior, buried below the frightened neurons sparking his fight or flight instinct, Mohinder could not stop himself from stealing glances at the self assured man who bedeviled his dreams and waking thoughts, the self possessed man who plagued his nightmares.

Despite being powerless, Mohinder had found himself forgetting that Sylar was in a weakened state. Standing over him, invading Mohinder's space, Sylar's eyes held Mohinder's in a non-verbal conversation understood by only them.

Even when not together each had still haunted the other as a ghost. Materializing in long awaited physical form reminded them of the concrete, yet invisible, bond that joined them in unspeakable ways.

For a brief moment, almost carelessly scattered in the middle of a rather surreal day, genuine concern bound them into one sphere that no other could penetrate. Eyes attempted the conversation that words could never fully speak.

A fragile moment, it had ended just as quickly but was never destroyed.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

When he let his mind wander of its own free will, Sylar had deliberated more than once whether Mohinder's skin would sting with the taste of spices like those he had taken pleasure incorporating into the meals he had concocted with care and pride.

Sylar never actually did it, the only thing that had stopped him was the uncertainty about Mohinder's reaction, but he had given bona fide thought to a quick flick of his tongue along Mohinder's inviting skin; in an endeavor to stem his curiousity, of course.

The inability to do that however had only heightened the temptation.

On occasion Sylar got as close as he could to Mohinder and tried to taste his exhaled breath.

Slow and steady or fast and erratic, Sylar swore he could taste the remarkable collaboration of hot and sour, sweet yet salty, subtle and potent that inhabited Mohinder's body.

It made Sylar think about everything he was not.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was always a mindtrip for Mohinder to reconcile Sylar's looming presence with the simplicity that peaked out from his core when he least expected it.

Sylar forced his way up close and personal to throw Mohinder's balance off but did not see the glimmering, yet confused, recognition being made over and over again, a result of the shiver induced exaltation that emanated from him, the outcome of a mint fluoride ritual.

Each invasion of personal space, Mohinder tasted the coolness that jumped from Sylar's breath to him, into him; that hovered just within the parted opening of his lips.

Mohinder had found it remarkable how something so clean permeated from someone so manipulative and self serving. His mind tried to draw the connecting line between the immovable physical being and the uncomplicated essence that dripped forth along his hissed breath and nestled on Mohinder's tongue.

It was both underwhelming (there were times when Mohinder expected a fiery explosion) and quite fitting.

It made Mohinder contemplate who Gabriel had been.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** **********   
**

A hint of cologne (like a dash of salt that subtly accents a dish) mixed with his natural pheromones had left a record of Mohinder's movements. Where he stood, walked, slept, shifted about while his feet beat out patterns on the floor, it was all there.

So fine, in a poetic balance to the man himself, his trace was unavoidable in the apartment and lab. It had infused itself to the seat fibers in the car where they had lived together in such close quarters and had become such a part of daily life that Sylar had begun to associate it with home.

Whatever that was, wherever that was, Mohinder was there.

A suggestion of presence, it was a prelude that Sylar welcomed and an epilogue he had savoured with slight regret for the loss.

Even before Mohinder had opened the apartment door, Sylar had already recreated him in his mind's eye by the simple act of being back on their old stomping ground. The smell of food that Maya was cooking could not overpower it. The ever-present smell of a different, stronger cologne could not disguise it. Mohinder's scent lingered.

Sylar could still hone in on it, pick it out at the expense of all others.

It was Mohinder's unofficial first welcome home for Sylar.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Much like his effortless taste, Mohinder found Sylar's aromatic presence surprisingly inoffensive.

His natural scent was only slightly altered by whatever generic soap he had gotten his hands on. No thought or effort put behind it, Mohinder had noted it was the least of Sylar's concerns.

Virtually undetectable it did not announce his proximity or mark the path he left behind. It helped turn him into the perfect cipher, a riddle that could not be unraveled, except by Mohinder.

Kept in check it did not compete with the overwhelming entity that was Sylar, instead it remained in a preferable state of discretion.

Mohinder could still recognize its distinctions, the characteristics that made it specifically Sylar's. Having it around again Mohinder had forgotten how accustomed he had become to something that seemed so unimpressionable by others.

A true fit, it reclaimed its position tapping Mohinder's shoulders, never far gone.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

With a natural progression that was to be expected, all things considered, Mohinder was more consciously restrained when coming in physical contact with Sylar than he had been their first time around.

Despite becoming an infrequent occurrence it had also become much more personally motivated. What had once been trustfully kind and hesitant had evolved into an authoritatively self-assured move.

Of interest to Sylar was that a part of him still regretted the loss of kindness that Mohinder had offered quite easily; hand on arm with a quick squeeze reminded Sylar they were in it together.

However Sylar would not give up the intimacy (it was the only word he could think of, with _closeness_ as a near second) that came with Mohinder's later bestowment of physical communication.

The infliction of pain was Mohinder's willing declaration of war in which they would both take a perverse pleasure in marking the other's body with keepsakes of the ties that bound them.

Even a whispered threat, during which Mohinder's breath tickled Sylar's ear, while Mohinder's mouth lightly grazed the skin of Sylar's cheek, seemed an act of familiarity as much as it was antagonistic.

Sylar came to find that the more aggressive Mohinder's touches, the more emotion at the heart of the motivation. The deeper the intended bruises (the needles were an accessory Sylar came to look upon with a glint in his eye), the more undeniable the nexus between them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The only physical contact of Sylar's that Mohinder believed to be true, and he had learned that the hard way, were the ones that left imprints on his skin.

A recorded history, Mohinder's body told the story of their past and present. The future was just a matter of finding space.

Mohinder dreaded those hands on him, Sylar had changed it up before when he still had the telekinesis at his disposal, but he had also found himself craving it.

Understanding the silent language of Sylar's physical barrage upon him, it was translatable to Mohinder that he would not die, at least no time soon, at Sylar's hands.

It was Sylar's act of kindness, dyslexic in nature, but there all the same.

The gun was merely a prop, the bullets never intended for Mohinder's body, but rather those who had the unfortunate timing of coming between them.

Hands gripped shoulders and pushed Mohinder in whatever direction was necessary at the time; even a relatively new situation bore the feeling of déjà vu with nostalgia laced in amongst the fringes, near the hems that differentiated one moment from the next.

They had been there before and they would be there again.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

It was a burden being the only one who understood, in the truest way, the other. It made for the very delicate allowance that there was someone in the world who matched and mirrored. That could be interpreted as a weakness, a kink in the protective armor, the Achilles heel.

It was a gift being the only one who understood, in the truest sense of the word, the other. The remarkable ability to read the other on the most minute level, the most intricately complex way, confirmed the existence of an unmatched equal. The façade of the simplest comprehension, braille for the senses, was that it disguised, even from Mohinder and Sylar, the depth of their attachment.

Easier to give credence to the illusion of disconnect, they were unknowingly allies in adversarial bodies. 


End file.
